the third death
by murdur
Summary: Sif has done this twice before.


Sif stood on the grassy cliff edge, the salted air whipping her hair against pale cheeks, and watched with anticipation as the bright orange and red colored vessel touched down in front of her.

She smiled at first, seeing the faces of the children as they stepped cautiously onto the Midgarian soil. A few women and men followed behind to disembark from their long journey, eyes tired and unsure.

Sif's eyes searched each face, a sense of alarm causing her heart to drop. Where were the rest?

She had received a message from Heimdall, weeks ago. She heard her brother's deep voice in her head, calling out her name, before the power rolled through. When she blinked her eyes were a deep golden and, for a fleeting moment, she could see everything. Asgard was gone. Asgard was on a ship. They were coming. All of them. Even _him_.

Dread held her feet firmly in place in this foreign land. The place Odin had chosen, where they were to start Asgard anew. All of them. But they were not all here.

The small crowd parting and a woman, her light-colored armor glistening in the misty light, stepped forward. Sif stood taller at the Valkyrie's approach. Every day of her youth, she had dreamed of being counted amongst their party. She could not find the words to voice her questions.

"We had a plan," the Valkyrie's voice was sorrowful. Distressed. "It was such a _stupid_ plan."

"Where are they?" Her stomach wound itself into a knot.

The Valkyrie shook her head. "The Titan found us. We didn't have time nor resources to fight. Thor ordered me get as many out as I could. That trickster was going to stall, let us get as far away as possible." She shook her head again and shrugged in defeat, meeting Sif's gaze. "They saved us, but...We could hear the explosion, the _obliteration_."

Sif's blood ran cold. That couldn't be true.

"I'm sorry," the Valkyrie lifted a hand, as if to offer comfort, but then stepped around Sif and made for the camp the shieldmaiden had prepared.

No. Not again.

His first death, after the fall, when his mind shattered and his body dropped had been short. Only a fortnight had passed before he reached out to her, his voice whispering love and betrayal and madness in her dreams. He was not the boy that she had loved, but he was alive and he was still hers.

His second death had lasted longer. The seasons changed and snow had coated the Realm before he stepped out of the shadows of her room at midnight, and revealed his secret. Her first greeting was a fist, her second a kiss. Both were full of anger and regret, affection and desire. Their bodies moved together in apology and animosity all through the night, until the dawn had bathed her ravaged chambers in light. For months they had relearned each other. Again he was different, more sharp and unbound. But still hers.

She had left in anger. Unable to stand by as he left the universe to crumble around him, content with his pocket of power and peace. The things she had said then were cutting. He had reminded her of her own betrayal to turn her back on him again. She had left for Earth and for her friend that scientist Jane, hoping that they could find Thor. She had prayed, she had known those could not be her last words to him, nor his to her.

This third death, would be easiest of all. This was familiar, she was prepared, she could do this. He would return to her.

So, as she had done before, she waited. It was not in her nature to be idle, and so working with the Valkyrie, Brunnhilde, she helped build dwellings and roads along the cliff edge. Nyrheim, _new home_ , they called it. Each night, she looked to the shadowed corners of her room in her small cottage overlooking the sea. And she waited.

When Thor returned to Earth alone, and the universe turned to dust, she waited.

When time and reality were warped and bent, she waited.

When she fought for a world that was now her own, with a rage she'd never known, still she waited.

When they won and all was at peace, she waited.

They hours, days, years passed. She waited.

And waited.

This third death, was the worst of all. Her pain was unfamiliar, she was unprepared for the loneliness. She could not do this any longer. Perhaps...

Sif looked at her face in the mirror, reflected in the darkening room, letting her eyes trace the lines that had begun to settle into her skin. She was tired. In the approaching night, Sif pressed her battleworn hands to her chest, gathered her heart, and closed her eyes to summon a face, less weary than hers. A name rose to her lips, releasing it one last time.

"Loki."

A shadow flickered behind her.


End file.
